


cold river water

by floatingsumaru



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Blood, Coercion, Drowning, Ingesting Blood, Injury, M/M, Vomit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 11:54:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7267087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floatingsumaru/pseuds/floatingsumaru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I want to pulverize my dear underclassman in an official match."</p><p>Secret agent training is the actual worst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cold river water

“It’s not official unless you’re keeping time, Tobio.”

 

They’ve long since given up on keeping time, and keeping score, or at least they pretend to, because when have they ever learned to let anything go.

 

(Even when they were uneasy allies before Kageyama betrayed them.)

 

(Or maybe Kageyama was the one betrayed; it depends on which person was telling the story, is what their handlers would say, though they never could ask Kindaichi, whose body was never recovered. The dark green river that runs through the city took its rightful share of their scorekeeping that night.)

 

But Kageyama is not sure how he ever thought he could be winning, pinned down like this, bones grinding painfully where he’s bent awkwardly over the lip of the raised bathtub set against the wall; he wonders faintly if one of his ribs is broken. Everything is flickering fluorescent in this too large room filled with the echoes of distant river water, a sickly green cast that puts tears into his eyes from the strain, and the only thing to focus on is the glossy black of a gun that lies just out of reach.

 

Kageyama’s hands are desperate claws scrabbling at the dirty tile as he tries to throw Oikawa off his back, but Oikawa’s voice is smooth in his ear and his long fingers are vice grips against Kageyama’s upper arms as he forces Kageyama’s face closer and closer to the cold river water that fills half the bathtub.

 

“Keep count for me, Tobio, like you used to do.” Oikawa’s breath tickles against the shell of his ear as he leans his body weight against Kageyama and Kageyama flushes despite himself; it’s too hot when everything is cold tile and cold water and cold air, and he’s already starting to forget how to breathe. “Let’s see if my adorable little kouhai has gotten better since last time.”

 

And then in one swift movement, Oikawa releases Kageyama’s arms to push his head underwater.

 

It’s all too familiar, this practiced cruelty of Oikawa’s; first when Oikawa was the one to train him at the academy to withstand all things, and then when they met that one last time in the field, missions crossing them against each other on that dark path that leads down to the river. Kageyama had never won any of those encounters, but he was still alive, and so maybe he did escape with something close enough to victory afterall.

 

Kageyama remembers how cold it was then; it doesn’t prepare him for how cold it is now.

 

There’s nothing but black weight pressing down on his chest, spreading lines of fire in his lungs already heaving and panicked, and the whole of his world is suddenly the air bubbles rapidly escaping the trap of his clenched mouth, and the press of Oikawa’s fingers against his head, fingers almost gentle, almost fond in the way they thread themselves through Kageyama’s hair as Oikawa calmly holds him in place under the churning water. Kageyama can feel his arms bruising painfully as he tries to push against the slippery ceramic rim of the bathtub, but there’s no purchase to be found there, and everything slows down to his heartbeat too loud and somehow too fast in his ear, the blur of pale lights that crisscross frantically across the bottom of the tub as he tries to break the surface. He thinks he maybe prefers the green fluorescence afterall.

 

_96, 97, 98, 99…_

 

Kageyama is counting despite himself, ticking off the seconds in his head like he wants so much to please Oikawa still, and something about the rhythm of the count is relaxing him into the blackness of the water, can feel something wet and cold settle deep into his lungs pulling him down. There’s water roaring like faraway thunder in his ears, and something dark and murky floating in clouds around his head, and he suddenly can’t feel Oikawa’s hands anymore, the water has made him so numb, his skin feels stripped raw, he can’t even feel his own hands against the tile or his knees he thinks are supposed to be pressed painfully on the ground, it seems like so long ago.

 

The heady rush of air tastes like acid and metal in Kageyama’s mouth.

 

“What a disappointing display,” Oikawa says, as he hauls Kageyama out of the bathtub and drops him onto the floor; shivers are wracking Kageyama’s entire body against the dirt, his face pressed there as he coughs up green river water, and bile, and the blood from within his chest where a rib had, indeed, broken. Oikawa eyes the now murky red water in the tub; his nose scrunches up, unimpressed. “My, my, how incredibly messy, Tobio.”

 

“146,” Kageyama mouths weakly against the floor by Oikawa’s feet and there’s so much pride lined there, innocent and wanting, even as another flood of bright red blood slurs the movement of his tongue; but Oikawa reads his mouth just fine, and he smiles, and it cuts the coldness of the air like a knife. Kageyama coughs again, proud numbers still small and numb in his mouth, and vomits another flood of blood and bile onto the pristine leather of Oikawa’s shoe.

 

There’s water lining Kageyama’s eyes, cold river water and salt water both, and when he looks up at Oikawa standing over him, ever impatient for him to follow, Kageyama can’t see his face for the lights shining overhead, crisscrossing still, cutting the lines of Oikawa’s body into pale planes and blurred shadows. Kageyama weakly lifts his waterlogged sleeve to wipe at the shoe.

 

“You can do better than that,” Oikawa smiles again, as the blood blooms across the width of the sleeve to drip in diluted pink water puddles around Oikawa’s feet. He drops to his haunches, hands cupping Kageyama’s face and lifting it close; it seems almost a kind thing, fingers lightly stroking his cheek, smearing blood in streaks across the skin. Kageyama still can’t take a deep enough breath, and he’s panting loud and harsh into the small space between them; there’s only a single breath there, and Oikawa makes sure to take that, too. “Tobio, aren’t you always so eager to show me how much better you can do.”

 

Oikawa slides his hands into Kageyama’s hair, and digs his fingers in, pulling at the dark strands as Kageyama makes a wet slurred noise of discomfort, face twisting. “Oikawa-san, please--”

 

“Do you want to go home, Tobio.” There’s a note in Oikawa’s voice that’s soft, plaintive. It’s been a long night, and the darkness is wearing thin across Oikawa’s skin. Kageyama forgets this, sometimes, years of chasing after something so brilliant eclipsing the things he knows; the breaks in Oikawa’s bones, the face he wears when he’s turned toward the world.

 

And something in Kageyama wants to live up to that, always has, and he almost doesn’t choke at all as Oikawa slowly lowers his head to the dirt, tight grip fingers holding him suspended just so, and Kageyama drags his lips around a mouthful of the blood and bile rapidly cooling there, and swallows obediently. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was such a slog to write? What happened here, who even knows. But the lesson learned is probably to never fight in the goddamn dirt with Lira before bedtime, I guess. 
> 
> (I'm probably still sorry about every mess I make.)


End file.
